Walk This Way With Me
by MaydayParade8123
Summary: Annabeth's a model and Percy might have a mild fascination. AU.


_Summary: Annabeth's a model and Percy might have a mild fascination. AU._

Disclaimer: I don't own the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series, but I do own Axe and Kelsi. Also, I know absolutely nothing about modeling, photography, nor either of those industries. Enjoy this piece of absolutely made up information!

Author's Note: I wrote this really quickly today for an anon on Tumblr. I hope everyone's having a nice day! I edited it by myself, so any and all mistakes are my own. The title belongs to The Maine.

;;;

Percy's no stranger to beautiful people.

He photographs at least twenty gorgeous humans a day—in everything from their undergarments to winter coats—and he'll be damned if he's not immune to pretty people. It's hardly surprising to him anymore to see a long-legged brunette walk in with twinkling eyes, a bright white smile, and hair that falls in precise ringlets. It's nothing to see a guy with incredible cheekbones and eyelashes that cast small shadows over his smooth, unblemished skin. Percy's rubbed shoulders with the more attractive part of the population, he'll admit.

He's lucky to have the gig he has—part-time photographer for a magazine his mother edits—since it's more or less the only reason he was invited to study at SCAD as a photography major. (His grades aren't exactly classified as impressive, but a job at a fashion magazine held in high regard is.) Taking pictures is what he's always enjoyed, even if he never planned on getting a career in what he considered a hobby, but it pays well. Plus, it has its perks—Percy's constantly surrounded by perfect smiles and radiant skin, and he gets to meet people from all over the world while the magazine works to ensure diversity within their pages.

Some of them are nice, some of them are rude—but most are cordial. He doesn't mind; knows that he's relatively unimportant to them on the whole. After all, he's just the photographer. He clicks a few buttons and gives them brief directions when they seem at a loss, but most of his models understand how photoshoots work. They know when to transition into a new pose, don't even have to ask whether or not they should do something, and, for the most part, his job does itself, so long as his models comply. Percy's not so sure he's worth the fifteen dollars an hour.

"One more shot, then we have three models left, Jackson!" someone calls out behind him. He rolls his eyes, since it's stupid of them to put a time limit on capturing the perfect photos, but he tells the model, Giovanni, to give it her last go. She hooks her thumbs behind her suspenders and pulls them out to the side, smiling widely like she's having the time of her life fiddling with some fabric. Percy snaps the last picture of the shoot, thanks the girl for her time, and tries not to feel offended when she hardly spares him a glance. It happens.

The next model is a guy, looking a hell of a lot better in a scarf than Percy does. The man talks to him briefly, asking Percy if they want anything in particular, and Percy replies with the standard "just don't downplay the clothes; they're the center of attention" response.

The guy—Daniel, apparently—alternates between a smoldering stare and a charming smile. Percy sees so many of those a day, and he feels qualified enough to say that this guy isn't quite as gifted with seducing the camera as Percy's other models. He gives off almost a _slimy_ vibe, but that might just be the hair gel. Needless to say, he cuts that shoot a little short.

"Next model!" someone shouts out, and Percy hears the chaos of his next model being rushed out from hair and make up.

He doesn't even look up, playing around with some settings just for the hell of it before he sets them back to his standard. "Name?"

"Annabeth," the model replies. Then, after a moment, she adds "Chase."

That's what makes Percy glance up. "Well, hi, Annabeth Chase," he greets. "You're the first person to give me a last name all day." His models are usually pretty impersonal with him, and any extra information tossed in tends to make his day.

She's pretty, but it's more of a casual thing—the kind of look Percy prefers to photograph. He likes working with people and their imperfections, even if someone else'll edit them out later. They've put her in a red sundress, left her hair in a style that looks convincingly natural, and only applied the bare minimum of make up. Which, in this industry, is still a fair bit.

"Then I hope that gets me your name, too," she prompts, adjusting the fabric of her dress, giving him a look that's nothing but expectant. The red dress hugs her figure perfectly, falling a few inches above her knees. It's easy to photograph people like her. He won't have to tell her to adjust the clothes to make them a little more flattering, and she won't have to fight to find a pose that keeps both her and the dress looking good.

"Percy Jackson," he says, a little more enthused than he should be. It's not often that he gets asked his name during working hours, but he likes getting the chance to introduce himself. He's a self-proclaimed lover of people, and never passes up a chance to have a conversation with strangers, no matter how brief. Annabeth gives him a closed-lip smile, as if to say _nice to meet you_ without actually speaking, and Percy has an inkling there's a bright smile she'll be showing him in the next fifteen minutes. "Take the stage."

It's less of a stage and more of a set up scene, but Annabeth doesn't mention it. He starts snapping pictures before she's even composed herself, but she hardly flinches at the blinding flash. Percy supposes that models stop noticing the bright lights after a while, since they stand in front of them for a living.

Percy usually lets the models do their own thing, only giving them direction when they strike a pose he isn't fond of, but he wants to have a conversation with Annabeth. One that doesn't entirely consist of short little directions to ensure he gets a good shot.

Models like Annabeth are gifted, or at least Percy thinks so. It's like the light bends to fall across her face perfectly; the scene adjusts to her rather than Annabeth being forced to adjust to the scene. The dress looks like it was stitched with her in mind, the color dyed with the consideration of her skin tone. Percy takes these pictures with something like reverence.

"You're a natural," he comments, snapping another photo while she just stands there idly, waiting for the go ahead. She pulls the hem of her dress out to the side, showcasing the pattern that runs along the bottom while Percy works his magic. "Honestly, don't pose. Just... Be yourself."

Annabeth rolls her eyes at that, a little smile pushing at her lips, and Percy's lucky enough to catch the tail end of it—where small dents appear in her cheeks and her eyes are cast off to the side. Percy pulls back and stares at the picture for a second. "If I were being myself I wouldn't be wearing a dress," she mentions, reaching up to push some hair out of her eyes. Percy clicks away.

"That's a shame," he tells her, since he's gathered some guts after working around the people he does. "Looks nice on you."

Someone steps onto Percy's scene, making him scowl, but they pass Annabeth a pair of sunglasses and a wide, white hat. He abandons his camera briefly, moving closer to her and adjusting the hat until it sits right where he wants it. The white contrasts with her skin tone beautifully, matching the white symbols at the edge of the red dress, and Percy mutters "perfect" out loud.

Annabeth fiddles with the sunglasses, probably considering a few different placements, but Percy takes care of it for her. He unfolds the glasses, holding one of the temples between her thumb and index finger until she grasps onto it. "Like this," he says, guiding her elbow until the glasses are barely brushing her lips. Percy pauses and narrows his eyes. "Give me a little smile?"

Annabeth lets a corner of her lips turn up, her expression almost challenging. Percy wishes all of his models could be like Annabeth—understanding exactly what he wants to see even if he doesn't articulate well. He makes a pleased sound, tucking a chunk of her hair behind her ear, nodding to himself. "Hold that."

He hurries back to his camera, snapping a few shots. He's just about to tell Annabeth to turn her back to him so that they can have a back view of the dress, but she does it on her own, tugging her curls out of the way and turning her face to the side.

It's easy for Percy's days to disintegrate into nothing more than clicks and flashes, but it's models like Annabeth that make him remember why he loves this so much. He wants to photograph her in a hundred different lights and in a million different scenes; wants to focus in on the freckles he caught a glimpse of when he was close to her; wants to catch every little curve she has and every tilt to her lips. He wants a portfolio full of her—not even for a project at school, or to show in a gallery, but just to remind himself that there's people like her that have something beautiful in every atom of their make up.

He smiles to himself while Annabeth messes with the hat, probably trying to save it from falling. "We're done now," he announces, but that doesn't stop him from capturing a few more photos of her folding the sunglasses, pulling the hat off, shaking out her curls.

"You're still taking pictures," she informs him, like he doesn't know.

He shrugs from his place behind the lens. "You're fun to photograph." Selfishly, he zooms in until he can see the array of freckles on her left shoulder. He pushes down on the capture button.

After only a few more moments of indulging himself, he steps back from his camera. "Alright, Annabeth Chase. You can be on your way. Sorry for keeping you."

She bites one tip of the sunglasses. Percy's pretty sure she isn't allowed to do that. He doesn't mention it. "Thanks," she tells him.

"Just my job," he replies, but he gives her an appreciative nod.

"Next model!" someone shouts out, an intern rushing Annabeth out of the scene, taking the accessories from her.

Percy watches Annabeth disappear back into the dressing rooms while his next model—a dark-skinned guy in a striped tank top—gets a feel for his surroundings. "Name?" he asks absently, altering a few settings.

"Jordan," the guy answers, a smirk sliding onto his face. Percy wonders if he's as transparent as he feels. "Not sure about everyone else, but I'm scheduled to come back tomorrow to shoot some more of the catalog."

Percy's head snaps up, and he tries not to look to eager. Judging by the expression on Jordan's face, he's guessing he's not faring too well. "Yeah?"

"All week," Jordan says, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. Percy takes a picture. "And I doubt they're going to want me in the sundresses."

Percy snorts a little at that, and he'll admit he's a little glad he'll get more time with this set of models—there _was_ that cool guy named Axe who talked music with Percy for a few minutes, and the girl named Kelsi who expressed her interest in his job. It'll be nice to talk to them a few more times.

And, you know. He might get to photograph Annabeth again, which'll be a pleasure.

The next day, Percy gets a clipboard with a print out of his model line up. Annabeth's number twenty-seven.

Since Percy's the luckiest guy in the world, he gets a photo of Annabeth laughing at one of his jokes. Later, he'll get photos of Annabeth doing a lot of things—like typing her number into his phone, standing in line to purchase two more coffees while they wear out their welcome at Starbucks, and looking at him before she kisses him for the first time. It turns out that Percy isn't all that immune to beautiful people.


End file.
